


Vampires Will Never Hurt You

by flightofangels



Category: Dangan Ronpa, Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types
Genre: Alienation, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, Girls Kissing, High School, Internalized Homophobia, Lolita Fashion, Scoliosis, Skipping Class, Slow Burn, Vampire Fetish
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-31
Updated: 2014-05-31
Packaged: 2018-01-27 17:18:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1718411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flightofangels/pseuds/flightofangels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Celestia Ludenberg doesn't come to Hope's Peak Academy looking for friends, and Toko Fukawa is the furthest imaginable thing from friendly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vampires Will Never Hurt You

**Author's Note:**

> This will be the full version of my birthday gift for Mab somethingwickedthatwaywent, celeskawa with profuse apologies to Stephanie Meyer, including a completely lifted preface. Set pre-despair.

I'd given a great deal of thought to how I would die, especially in the last few months, but I'd never imagined it like this.

I stared without breathing across the long room, into the dark eyes of the killer, who looked pleasantly back at me.

Surely it was a good way to die, for the happiness of someone else, someone I loved. Beautiful, even. That ought to count for something.

I knew that if I'd never gone to Hope's Peak Academy, I wouldn't be facing death now. But, terrified as I was, I couldn't bring myself to regret the decision. When life offers you a dream so far beyond any of your expectations, it's not reasonable to grieve when it comes to an end.

The killer smiled in a friendly way and sauntered forward to murder me.

* * *

The car was only a kilometre away from the train station when my mother said, "You don't have to go if you don't want to."

"That's right," my father said. He spoke without turning his head away from the road or even lifting his eyes to look at me in the rearview mirror. "There aren't any Hope's Peak graduates from Utsunomiya," he added, as if this fact cast doubt on the academy rather than the municipality itself.

"I'll be the first and make the Yasuhiro family's name famous," I said in my high voice. This was only one of many capitulations to my parents' will, a final condescension before induction into the institution which had already received many keigo-heavy letters stressing the importance of nurturing the freedom of students to express their individuality and reach the full potential of their talent.

My hair was still long and unstyled. I would have to pay my coiffeur extra to come in that night before the first day of school. I was wearing one of the only A-line skirts in my wardrobe with a dark pattern. The white blouse, with only one red tie for contrast, was the most painful concession of all. My back brace might be faintly visible if I spent too much time directly under the April sunlight.

Fortunately on the train I would be able to cover the windows. There was as little opportunity to do so in this cramped car as there was to listen to classical music, and thus I had to listen as my mother continued her feeble attempts at reassurance. "You don't have to do anything as fancy as that, Taeko! You're fine-" Here she paused, her habit when repeating this platitude, "juuuuuust the way you are. _Besides_!" She winked at me. The nerve. "The Yasuhiro name will die out unless we adopt a nice son in law."

I had a ritualized response to that particularly hated line of reasoning. "Not till I pass away." It had the same number of syllables as "Over my dead body!" which is what I said the very first time they brought that up. I preferred retaining my allowance to my honesty.

"You know," my father said, a little more slowly because he was trying to sound less frustrated, "you could stand to be a little less morbid and a little more HOPE-ful."

The sound of the car coming to a stop was the only thing concealing my involuntary groan. My luggage had been shipped in advance, leaving me free to open the door and stand as quickly as modesty allowed. Waving with a cupped hand like Sonia Nevermind, I declared, "Au revoir, my dear parents. I will always have you in my thoughts."

That lie I had practiced in the mirror, since it was to serve as my farewell gift. If one looked up into the sky just above the other party's head, they could believe both that one was looking directly at them and felt whatever emotion they deemed appropriate. The best kind of lie to tell was what the mark wanted to believe. The visual element was much more important than the auditory one. The door was closing, and as per usual, my parents did not entirely hear me.

* * *

Hope's Peak Academy accepted only sixteen students a year to its ultimate class, and I had the good luck to be one. However, I held no hope of forming lasting relationships with any of them. Out of the hundreds of children at the school I was leaving behind forever, not a one had names worth remembering. Especially not Taeko Yasuhiro, who was pale and misshapen not unlike a gyoza without enough filling. Nobody got along with her, certainly not people who mattered - in authority. The one good thing about her, a talent, wasn't even legal.

All I stood to gain from this school was a diploma, a golden ticket to financial success, and an excuse to be out of the house in December instead of cleaning up for New Year's. I felt no particular sentiment as I rose from my assigned seat in the classroom, and gave my self-introduction. "I am Celestia Ludenberg. If you don't mind, I would prefer for you to call me Celeste. I look forward to getting to know you all better. Heh-heh-heh..."

Laughter should be good enough to give off a good first impression. Nobody at my old school had ever heard me laugh, because nothing there was ever funny.

The classes went on until lunch, at which point I excused myself to pick up the meal with bread I'd had delivered. By the time I got back in, most of the students had rearranged themselves into small groups; the two female athletes, for example, and the twins. There was only one empty seat left, in front of a cluster built on the second row, occupied by the idol Sayaka Maizono and some other boy. "Please, sit down," he said warmly, and I remembered this was the lucky student this year, Makoto Naegi. Why Sayaka Maizono was sitting next to him and nodding along was a mystery, but I had no good reason to refuse the offer.

That was when I caught sight of her. Sitting on the other side of the room was the one student whose name I hadn't heard, because she had mumbled her self-introduction so indistinctly. Okada? Fukuda? Harada??? Our eyes had met, and behind a pair of glasses hers were a violet so soft as to be quite possibly natural. They were the only objectively attractive part of her body. Her well-shaped face was plain in color except where marred on the edges by a few stray spots of acne. Her long hair could have passed for glossy if she ever managed to both wash and comb it in the same day. She was like a figure recovered from an Egyptian tomb: Maybe formerly beautiful, but covered in grime and probably by now cursed to boot.

"Are you having trouble remembering the literature girl's name?"

Maizono's voice shook me out of my thoughts, and I glanced back at her. "Perhaps, perhaps not. There is nothing we can do to bridge the gap between us." Her face was blank, and I sighed both for dramatic effect and out of disappointment. "Of course, it may be more correct to say that we are different simply because we are two separate human beings."

The allusion to a national classic finally clear enough at that point, she broke out her trademark smile. "I was going to joke about reading your mind, but I guess I was wrong. Of course, it's hard to forget a name like Toko Fukawa. With her book about fishermen..."

"Yeah, I've read it!" Naegi chimed in. "It was really good..."

The white noise about her book continued to stream out of his mouth. She had been looking at me before I lay eyes on her, and far beyond a benevolent squint, she was outright glaring at me, not even directly into my eyes, but a little lower. Her mouth too was curled into a snarl so ugly as to show her teeth. I almost reached up to my face to feel for a squirming bug leaving behind a slimy trail in its wake. She seemed to be imagining what it would be like to rip out each of my hairs one by one. There was a faint whining noise at the back of my consciousness.

No, Maizono was giggling. "Oh! Are you jealous of Fukawa-san for getting to sit next to Togami-kun?"

Until that moment I hadn't noticed the bespectacled boy, who snapped into focus and turned out to be suited by the uniform the same way a cat was suited by a dishrag. Fukawa was not completely intimidated by him; if anything his presence seemed to be calming her down. Saving me from answering the awkward question, the bell rang. Soon lunch would be over and we would walk out of the classroom to attend biology class. I had barely touched my food and would never be the fastest walker, and as I turned the corner in the hallway... one other student happened to be lagging behind.

Just my luck. As the second last and dead last to take our seats, Fukawa and I ended up lab partners. This was my best-case scenario! Stuck with somebody who was now doing her very best to stare at the front of the classroom, instead of at me! She refused to acknowledge my existence with so much as a nod of the head. How I wished I could have been with anyone else, such as Kyouko Kirigiri, the cool detective row one row in front of us.

Fortunately, the first day involved no lab work, only a lecture, and once it was over, I got up as swiftly as dignity allowed. I couldn't resist lingering, of course - the seats in this classroom were only a little less uncomfortable than our main one - but what I saw was even more disappointing. Fukawa was approaching the teacher directly, which seemed to be an incredible challenge for her. She was delivering an impassioned plea punctuated by severe stuttering. The gist of her argument seemed to involve her psychological requirement for... for...

FOR A NEW FUCKING LAB PARTNER??? I almost chipped a nail scratching at my ear to make sure I'd heard her right! What was that bitch talking about? Making her uncomfortable? I had done literally nothing wrong.

Now that I'd wasted my time trying to hear her spread unflattering lies about me, I was going to be late to gym too at this rate. I walked quickly with my head down, staring at the ground to keep my eyes from watering because I refused to let emotion ruin my mascara. As such, I bumped into the first person to come out of the changing room, his identity predictable enough since he was the most athletic boy in the class: Leon Kuwata.

"Hey, what's a girl like you doing in a place like this?" Surely he thought this smile was charming as his open mouth permitted a glimpse of his piercing. Unfortunately for him, his tongue resembled nothing more than a particularly pink slug. Completely done with fucking around, I snarled at him, my ring finger raised:

"Get out of my sight and never talk to me again."

He crossed his arms, defensive though not threatened. "Okay, sheesh! Though I'm warning you now, Ishimaru is gonna try to put you in jail for sticking with that outfit..."

I could only breathe regularly by imagining a metronome, playing in the background as I lounged in one of my castle's many rooms, painting a picture of my perfectly composed but disdainful face. "Considering he had no reaction to me wearing these garments all day so far, I think he will be understanding. Perhaps he has already contacted the school and learned about the permission I've received for this."

"Okay, if you say so... hey, speaking of not dressing out though, before I forget, I've been meanin' to ask someone and it might as well be you. Know anything about that Fukawa's problem?"

For the first time since middle school, I found myself muttering through gritted teeth, "I have absolutely no idea."

* * *

The second day was my first taste of the many special electives offered at Hope's Peak Academy in the name of nurturing specific talents. The financial course was on the top floor of the building, a place not required in yesterday's schedule, and by the third flight of stairs I found myself hoping we would be taught how to secure funds for elevator construction. The school had been operating for over three quarters of a century, though, making such a change sound unlikely. After breathing outside the doorway long enough to eliminate the major traces of strain on my face, I arrived with barely a minute to spare, forcing me to budget my time. "Bonjour, Togami-kun," I said to the only student I recognized.

Byakuya Togami kept his eyes trained on a book. Thirty seconds passed in complete silence as I tilted my head as much as my wig would allow. Though the gesture had no effect on his gaze, at length I could see the top of the spine: _Satre_. The statement was clear: _I give no damns about any further economical education._

What an arrogant worldview. If Byakuya Togami really believed that and came to Hope's Peak anyway, the Ultimate Affluent Progeny was a hopeless case wasting three years of his time. I sat down two desks away and took notes even though the teacher's speech was clear enough. Letting Togami score higher than I on any point would just be pitiful.

Once the had class ended, I decided I would not walk all the way back to the main classroom for lunch consumption - after all, biology was next and it wouldn't do to backtrack. So I scraped together a semblance of a decent meal from the vending machines and took to the roof. Access was easy enough. A bird's eye view would help me assess the campus without running its length and breadth, and solitary meals were a familiar phenomenon for any lolita.

I didn't need friends, not even if they were teenagers with ultimate skill. I had already secured allies like Maizono who put in all the efforts themselves to be friendly for the sake of it. I had also scoped out potential assets like Kirigiri. I even had the luxury of relying on individuals who didn't know what they were to me yet... though in his case I needed to wait, because showing my hand too soon would encourage him more than necessary. All these allies, no friends. Friends were a liability. Somebody you could lose.

Perhaps Fukawa had already learned that?

I almost shook my head mid-sip and only stopped myself at the last second. Splattering tea was a faux pas. Fukawa was not worthy of such consideration. She belonged squarely in the F-rank! Didn't she? It would be a same if our negative relationship wiped her off the face of the earth. I had seen no evidence of incompetence on her part other than bad taste in classmates. Even that much was debatable: However antisocial Togami was, she had gotten him to tolerate her more than anyone else, and he was the most powerful member of the class in the outside world as far as I knew.

What a puzzle, a writer no good at speaking. I would have dismissed her as inexplicable, and unworthy of so much thought, if it weren't for the upcoming biology class. Finished with lunch, I undertook the dreaded journey to the lab.

She wasn't there. Fourteen other students, one absent. None of them were particularly disturbed. Like in a petri dish with a single millilitre removed by eyedropper, I was the liquid oozing towards the hole.

We had another lecture that day, about material I understood well enough to afford paying almost no attention. Was Fukawa sick? Had I completely misunderstood facial expressions that were just the sign of burgeoning disease? That couldn't be right, even if she was looking at me during lunch by coincidence. She had begged not to be my biology partner. What was wrong with her? In her eyes, what was wrong with me? (There were plenty of things wrong with Taeko Yasuhiro, but she had not met that person.)

On my way onto the sidelines of the gym field, I fell into step with Kirigiri. Fukawa's out-of-uniform body was nowhere to be seen here either; evidently she hadn't just skipped biology. Halfway through her stretches, I decided to speak to Kirigiri, sotto voce.

"I wonder what happened to Fukawa-san?"

"She isn't sick," was her first statement. I raised my eyebrows even though she didn't look up at me. "She submitted a note to the principal's office about a death in the family."

"That's an interesting choice of phrasing." I resisted the urge to drum my fingers, as that would look weird with no suitable surface available other than the skin my ring would puncture. "You separated her bill of clean health from her explanation. Are you not holding them to the same standards?"

Kirigiri stopped stretching, her face still turned away from mine. "I was repeating the information I had."

"And I'm very grateful," I said, making a curtsey.

* * *

The next day I walked into the classroom and she was there, braids brushing against the bright metal struts on the back of the chair. She looked up when I walked in, this time with her chapped lips held together, as if she had been waiting for me. Then she saw I was looking back at her and flinched. In spite of the classroom chatter, I could almost clearly hear the bizarre noise the shape of Fukawa's mouth indicated she must be making. Togami put his hand on her shoulder and she cringed into calmness, returning her attention to the workbook on her desk. 

What had changed yesterday? I turned to greet Maizono, but I couldn't stop asking myself that question all morning long. The English lesson commenced and I powered through all the drills with my foreceful foreign accent. By now I had learned to ignore the disappointed faces of teachers who expected me to conform to an American or at least British speaking standard. Their warbling, breathy double-yous were just so unsophisticated by comparison. 

The lunch bell rang and the room rearranged itself around me. As tired as I was of sitting still for so long, I also lacked the energy to get up immediately. "We missed you a lot yesterday, Celes-san," Maizono was saying. Next to her Naegi's bright face suggested he'd forgive me for refusing him twice in a row, but the idol's curious stare told a different story. 

"What a joy it shall be to join you again. Please allow me to..." Waste ten minutes walking to buy today's bread while their bond intensified all the more and patience with me soured. With my schedule I couldn't afford to rely on only two people... I needed a third party to stabilize the formation in my absence. To my right, the faint crinkle of leather repeatedly fumbling over plastic wrappers gave me the perfect answer: "While I am fetching my lunch, why not extend the offer to Kirigiri-san? Our desks don't form triangles very well, after all." 

Naegi brightened up even more. I had to re-evaluate the facial expressions I thought were physically possible, because he kept churning out these sunny smiles without any sign of secret sociopathy. "That's a great idea!" 

Thus reassured, I returned several minutes later to see our four desks arranged in a square, one seat saved for me. Once I was next to Kirigiri, the scent of coffee from her open thermos overwhelmed me. A crane folded out of garishly colored paper stood watch over the large napkin where each of her lunch items were laid out. Maizono had another wrapper in her fingers; this one looked likely to turn into a frog. Much like on the first day, she had already finished eating her very small lunch.

As I sat down, Naegi had been mid-sentence: "--to have Headmaster Jin Kirigiri as your dad, though."

Kirigiri took a long sip of her coffee, and a glance at me, the interloper, before replying with, "There are perks. The worst part is simply having everybody know."

Maizono slid forward the completed piece, which was actually a puppy. "Kirigiri-san is really secretive..." She plopped her chin into her hands. "Even avoids announcing her title when she can get away with it! So _mysterious_... I guess you're not in the performing arts, though."

"How can you be sure?" Kirigiri popped the last chunk of a riceball into her mouth. "Perhaps the Super High School Level Actress is only known by speakers of the underground Japanese theater scene's polari, and her ability to disappear into any persona reached Hope's Peak Academy through pure word of mouth."

"No way!" With a big grin Maizono shook her head like a wet bunny. "The Takarazuka Revue would pick you up right away."

Most of their shows I had seen were online camrips, a fact I decided not to bring up as I continued chewing my bread. Fukawa sat in the back of the classroom, behind Togami, picking at her lunch. No matter how long she stared at the food, she couldn't work up an appetite. Her lips only parted to exchange brief, bitter words with Togami - too clipped for me to read from here.

Before the end of the lunch period came, I chimed into the discussion with a token contribution to assure the other three kids I had been listening at some point: "In my opinion _Ernest in Love_ improved upon Wilde's original work quite a bit by underscoring the class dynamics that made the action possible." Then the bell blared again, compelling us to biology, and as they put away their chairs I strode straight out into the hallway, confident that soon I would probably procure some kind of answer.

* * *

I entered the classroom before everybody else, delivering a bow to the stunned teacher and taking the seat I had been assigned. Half a dozen of the other students entered in short order, three separate lab pairs. Only forty seconds later did my target slink through the door. So as not to waste the limited time between my early arrival and the beginning of the lesson, the moment Fukawa was within touching distance, I addressed her with my best smile on. "I believe we have not been introduced. I am Celestia Ludenberg." 

"Oh, are you?" She had her hand on the back of the chair, which was close enough to force her gaze into my general direction. "I'm Toko... T-Toko Fukawa..." 

When she sat down and the fluorescent lights eliminated the shadows on her face, I could see she was cracking a bit of a grin, holding back a laugh. "Is there an inside joke of which I'm not aware?" I disliked the feeling of being in the dark. 

"It's just that I finally get why people have been calling you Celes... because the 'ti' is hard to pronounce."

Her understanding of Japanese phonetics was impeccable, naturally. I said nothing more. Worksheets were being passed around the room and finally reached us. We alternated answers and use of the microscope, all in complete silence, but were finished with several minutes to spare.

As I pushed the piece of paper to the front of the desk, her hand brushed against mine. I saw her skin, almost as pale as my own, but with a less smooth flush. If I only went outside on carefully planned outings where a parasol was allowed, it seemed she only went outside if she was forced. Her hand stopped midair after the contact: "I'm just going to check it..." she muttered.

"That is fine," I said, letting go. She only changed a single answer, one of my own, and then let go.

Now we had nothing to do but wait for the end of the bell. Five minutes before the end of class, I couldn't take it anymore, and trotted out my default conversation starter: "Do you believe in luck?"

"No," she spat immediately.

"Why on earth not?" I covered my mouth with my hand to make my indignation look calmer. "Most people at least acknowledge that it plays a factor. In the world of gambling--"

"That's just - that's just one tiny sample!!" She clutched at her head, already quite passionate about the matter. "Things d-do NOT happen by accident!"

"They don't?" I wasn't sure how much the protest was just what she wanted to believe.

"People don't bump into each other c-coincidentally... they choose where to look." As heavy as her voice was, stutter aside her cadence was even; she'd been over this before. "Anybody who wants you to believe in fate is trying to... to s-s-sell something."

At this point, even as composed a capitalist as myself felt a touch offended and could be excused for resorting to the somewhat uncouth rhetorical technique of a personal attack. "If that's the case, then why on earth are you so given over to glaring at me?"

She went stock-still, clearly caught her off-guard. "It's... it's..." Her hand formed a fist in her lap as she suddenly grew angry. "It's your damn clothes! It doesn't make any sense to me! You don't d-dress in uniform OR for c-comfort... What are you trying to prove? Especially with that r-ridiculous headdress! I can't even tell how it fits over your hair?? AND there's this b-bow under your chin!! What does that have to do with anything? Is there some form of h-h-hairspray that works on ruffles???"

Her rant done, Fukawa struggled to catch her breath. I waited for her, receiving time to compose my response. "Lolita fashion is an all-encompassing aesthetic extending even beyond clothing. Every cubic centimetre of the lolita's world is a potential space for improvement. I see no reason why that should be limited to after school, let alone below the neck." With my nails I plucked the strings behind my ears so they would be visible. "As for this? A rectangular headdress. Consider it like a cloth headband, though I'm not sure you've ever heard of even that accessory."

The bell rang and I got up with a beatific smile on my face, leaving Fukawa sputtering. Only when I got home that night would it occur to me that the focus of her aesthetic inquiry meant she was probably staring at my neck.

* * *

Thursday, Friday, and Saturday all passed without incident. Fukawa had no more mysterious absences, and we collaborated in biology speaking as little as possible. Sunday arrived soon enough, and I spent the day at home, shopping for new clothing from the comfort of my personal computer. Fukawa did have one point: Rectangular headdresses were considered archaic by some gothic lolitas these days. I had managed to make mine work, I thought - I prided myself on wearing "outdated" classics to this day, especially a black and white dress that could have turned into a lace monster - but it couldn't hurt to at some point experiment with an alice bow. Sonia Nevermind herself had one, after all. That would also leave my throat free for a choker.

Via email I submitted three options to one of my Knights for assessment and returned to idly scrolling the news. The results of the latest fighting tournament. (Sakura Ogami had won, what a surprise.) The Genocide Jack murder on Tuesday, still unsolved. The Togami conglomerate was making a donation to...

What did it matter? I closed out the window, shut down the computer, and headed for the bath. The hygenic activity felt like the world to me sometimes; even though on every side the water was touching me, I saw no reason to pay attention to any particular part of the tub or draw attention to the unaesthetic alterations that my medical condition necessitated. My goal was cleaning my body, no more, no less, and I couldn't get out until I was done, even if the bath was cold and uncomfortable by then. I had to stay in it until I got out, dried off, and traded my prissy shower cap for a fashionable nightgown.

* * *

Monday shattered my peace with the announcement of this week's after school cleaning duty: Enoshima, Kuwata, Fukawa... and myself. Both of the former two were performing variations of that hand-behind-neck gesture punctuated by uneasy grins - apologizing in advance for how little they were going to contribute, most likely. I looked at Fukawa to see her reaction... and she was looking at me, dismayed - beyond that, empathetic.

The shared moment was probably even weirder for her than for me, because the next second she gritted her teeth and marched towards the mop. Kuwata gravitated towards the desks to push them around. Apparently his brute strength was good for one thing after all. Enoshima sashayed backwards until she struck the blackboard, giggling at the impact and gleefully rubbing her hands at the prospect of clapping erasers.

At first I followed behind Fukawa with the bucket since she had commandeered the mop. As in biology, we collaborated well and silently. Then she went to wipe the windows while I did the same to the lockers, working in the direction of the windows to the wall. In the corner Kuwata was stacking the chairs. He was fiddling with his newest piercing, drawing fresh blood, as he tried to decide whether to add one more chair, but he went for it. The tower swayed--

And then it started to fall towards me. How many kilograms of metal did the impending mass weigh? The silver filled my vision, there was an inexplicable brown blur at the edge, and a hit to my ribcage - almost unbearable pain, I did not need my lungs squeezed any harder than they already were, I couldn't breathe - my body was being moved involuntarily, like drowning. Any minute now, my head would hit the floor, and I'd suffer an unsightly concussion. It was a good thing my alice bows were coming in the mail because bloodstains would not suit this headdress one bit however striking the contrast of red and white was in theory, I was not interested in guro lolita--

The chairs clanged like dozen of cymbals, and I was still conscious. Beyond that I was still standing. I had moved backwards several centimetres, and that force on my torso - letting up a little now, though still present. The brown flash had been braids, or a uniform sleeve, maybe - which was impossible to tell now that I was safe. In Fukawa's arms.

I could barely feel the warmth of her body on my skin through all the layers of my clothing, the even sturdier material of my brace, and the camisole underneath that. What I could feel was her breath on my face - still dry, though I could see her tongue hanging out of her mouth, red and wet like a fresh strawberry. Her eyes were redder yet, suddenly bloodshot, and lidded as she whispered to me,

"You ok?"

However strange the blunt inflection was coming from her mouth, I was too stunned by the situation to do anything more than nod.

"Goooooood!" she purred. "Cause your heart's racin' like a jackhammer. Don't worry, I didn't grab your fake-ass drills."

Before I could react to that, Enoshima was poking her head over towards us, bringing a cloud of chalk dust with her. "You guys get stuck like that?"

The disruption made Fukawa sneeze - and she didn't turn her head back to me afterwards. Instead her teeth started chattering, and she stopped standing so rigidly. My feet touched the ground again. Fukawa let me go. Her reddish eyes must have been some trick of the light because they were a clear purple once more. She took some skittish glances around, completely disoriented once the adrenaline rush was over.

She was in no condition to address Enoshima. So I could shut up Kuwata before he started making some excuse for his mistake, I spoke to the other girl in Fukawa's stead: "We're fine now."

Fukawa nodded and limped back to the windows to finish up her work - an entire meter's distance at least, at the same lethargic pace that was usual for her journeys from class to class. How had she sprinted to rescue me, then? Mercifully, Enoshima took out the trash. I was left wiping the last few lockers in broad, uneven circles, more questions than answers on my mind.


End file.
